Men In Black
by ardavenport
Summary: A simple call turns into intrigue that Roy and Johnny can only speculate about.


**MEN IN BLACK**

by ardavenport

* * *

><p>John Gage clicked off the siren as Roy DeSoto brought the squad to a stop in front of the house. It had a high hedge and fence concealing most of the yard, but the number was on the mail box in large white letters. They got their equipment, drug box and biophone, out and cautiously pushed through the front gate, past the 'BEWARE OF THE DOG' sign. Nothing barked or bared its fangs or ran out at them, so they went up to the front door of the white, Spanish-style, one story home. They heard someone moving around, but nobody opened the door. Johnny pounded on it.<p>

"Fire Department!"

Something thumped inside. Gage put his ear close to the white wood door, but he heard no voices.

Bang! Bang! Bang! "Fire Department!"

They were looking around, trying to see through the tall bushes in front of the windows, when the door suddenly opened. A small old woman in a green and white flowered dress sneered up at them from the dark interior.

"Inside! Come, come!"

She hustled them in with German-accented orders. "Over here! Over here! You take so long to come!" They heard a dog barking in the back of the house; it sounded big and mean, but safely behind a closed door.

Her husband lay on a dark green sofa with white doilies on the back. He moaned as soon as they pulled the coffee table away and put their equipment down. His name was Fredrick (pronounced with a 'free') Stern and his wife's was Greta; he told them that his back was hurting him.

"Aaugh! The doctor won't come. Call you they say. Aaauugh!"

Johnny pushed Frederick's shirt sleeve up, wrapped the BP cuff around his arm. After pulling the stethoscope earpieces up so he could listen, he pumped it up while Roy opened the biophone and asked the victim what he was doing when his back started hurting. In the rear of the house, the dog kept barking.

"Nothing, nothing. I just bend over and suddenly it hurts so bad." He grimaced and sucked air in through his teeth. John took the earpieces out. He took Mr. Stern's wrist and Roy called the hospital.

"Oh, Fredrick, I was out just taking my walk, and here I see this red truck with the flashing light - - "

They all looked back toward the door where a white-haired elderly man in turquoise and white striped shirt, a blue sweater and beige-and-brown checked pants tottered toward them.

" - - I live next door, you see. Herman Klopnik." He put his hand to his chest to introduce himself with his own German-like accent.

Greta scowled. "Oh, leave us, you nosy old man. Why don't you stay on your side of the fence? That's what fences are for."

"Hush, don't be rude, Greta." Fredrick narrowed his eyes crossly at her. John wrote down the vitals on his notepad. BP: one-thirty over ninety. Respiration: twenty. Pulse: ninety. He passed them on to Roy who gave them to Rampart.

John scrutinized Mr. Stern more carefully. His color was good, his breathing perhaps a little fast, but not abnormal. And if his back was hurting the way he said it was, why didn't it seem to hurt him when he twisted his body to look up at his wife?

She went around the coffee table to shoo the neighbor out. "Go away, we don't need you. Go! Go!" She scowled and waved her thin arms. But Mr. Klopnik remained resolutely cheerful and supportive.

"Well, you just call if you need anything. I'm right here. Ready any time."

"Oh, you only want to spy on us. I've seen you with your spy glasses. Go. Go. Go."

They heard the siren of the ambulance arriving when she opened the front door and drove the neighbor out into the yard. The dog in the back got more exited, barking louder.

"She's upset." Frederick shook his head, his hand on his chest. Roy frowned toward John. A minute ago, their victim was in serious pain, but now he lay relaxed on the sofa cushions.

The siren stopped outside. Rampart told them to send him in, no I.V., so they wouldn't have to go in with him. Roy signed off and packed up their equipment while John went to the door, but the wife came back.

"Out of the way. Get out of my way. Oh, you people always get in the way."

John hastily backed up away from her waving arms. She bent to pick up a black overnight bag just inside the entryway.

Frederick answered Roy's puzzled look. "She insisted on packing something."

"The last time my back does this, I have to go to the hospital. And you know they only have those things that flap open in the back." He patted his chest. "A man should not have to wear such things."

"Uh, Ma'am, can I help you with that?" John cautiously held a hand out to Greta who struggled to get the strap up over her narrow shoulder. She scowled back, obviously not wanting his help at all, but she threw down the leather strap in disgust.

"Oh, you take it then. You just be careful with that."

He bent to retrieve the strap and lifted, his eyes going wide with the unexpected weight that nearly toppled him over.

"Oh, be careful, be careful!"

John gaped back at the woman. What had she packed in there? What did she think her husband needed to take to the hospital? Especially since there did not look like there was that much wrong with him. The bag had to weight at least forty pounds. It was heavier than the biophone. He looked toward his partner.

Blue eyes wide, Roy opened his mouth. John's head turned toward the door.

"Whoa!" He hastily backed away from the long black barrel of a gun, held by a big commando-looking man in black clothes and mask, only the eyes and mouth visible.

"Aaaaauuuuggghhh - - " The woman's shout of rage was cut short by a rifle butt to her face from another commando. A third advanced on Roy and Frederick. Another one entered from the other end of the living room. Where had he come from?

John already had his hands up. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey - - -"

"Shut up! Shut up!" The rifle barrel pointed at his chest.

"Okay, okay! We don't want any trouble - - "

The gun pointed at his head. "No more talking!"

John opened his mouth and then shut it when the gun barrel twitched.

"You filthy, auuuggh - - " A commando straddled Greta on the floor and roughly gagged her with a black cloth tied with a strap around the back of her head. Her nose was bloody.

"Hey!"

Roy's shout drew John's attention back to the victim. Something flew up in the air from his hand. A small silvery gun tumbled onto the floor along with Roy. A rifle butt smashed into Frederick's face, a hard impact on flesh and bone.

"Roy!"

The commando shoved his gun up under John's chin.

"No talking! Hands up!"

John's hands went up over his head.

The commandos were all the same. Big guys in black clothes and masks. With big black guns. Two more came in, each with a handgun on the two ambulance attendants. The one in front of John stepped back, waving his gun and when he didn't move fast enough, he roughly grabbed his arm and shoved him toward the opposite end of the living room. Another commando grabbed Roy up off the floor and shoved him with the others.

John counted six. Two of them kept their guns on the paramedics and ambulance attendants. Two finished binding and gagging Frederick and Greta. The other two stood together, guns at the ready, speaking quietly together. John could only make out random syllables and it was not Englilsh. German? He didn't know.

They seemed to decide on what they wanted to do quickly enough. One ran out the door while another approached them and pointed his gun at the attendants, Izzy Finster and Bud Kendrick; both Roy and Johnny had transported patients with them before.

"You two, clothes off!"

Taken aback, Bud and Izzy hesitated.

"Off! Now!"

The gun convinced them; they started unbuttoning their white shirts. Another black-hooded man stepped up to the two paramedics and pointed his gun at Roy.

"C!othes off! Now!"

After exchanging worried glances with his partner, Roy started unbuttoning his blue shirt as well. Beside him, two of the men in black were also taking their clothes off and snatching up Izzy and Buds' white pants and shirts as soon as they were handed over. Uncertain about what they wanted from him, John kept his hands up, but the gunman didn't seem to interested in him - - - until he lowered his hands a little. The gun switched from covering Roy, taking his pants off, back to him with three clipped, accented words.

"Keep them up."

John's hands shot up over his head. "All right, all right."

The man advanced, the gun aimed right at his nose. "No talking." He backed up and waved the weapon at the men undressing. "No talking. Any of you!"

"Uum-mm-aaaiiimm!" Greta's eyes glared daggers at him from her place in a stuffed chair, her hands tied behind her back, her mouth covered by a bloody gag. They had gagged Frederick as well, tied his arms to the gurney and covered it up with the blanket. He looked more fearful, but still angry as well.

They completed the change of clothes with three of the men taking the place of the two attendants and Roy, though none of them took their masks off. Roy, Izzy and Bud were left in their undershorts and socks. It was a hot day outside, so no one was wearing an undershirt, their hairy chests unhappily exposed; Izzy looked like he had dark wiry hair on his back, too. All three of them were broad in the shoulders, but the commandos easily filled their clothes with big biceps and chests. Two of the other men in black stayed back, their guns ready while a sixth rumaged through the house. He started with the overnight bag by the wall; John's eyes went wide at a glint of gold and glimpse of weapons inside under a powder blue towel. He tossed the shiny, silvery gun inside it.

Then he left, going to other parts of the house, noisily searching it. John wondered about the dog, and realized that he hadn't heard it barking since the ambulance arrived. The masked men tied up Izzy and Bud while the one in Roy's uniform did the same for both Roy and John. They used heavy nylon cord, quickly wrapping it several times around their wrists, crossed behind their backs. John grimaced at the tight restraint that threatened to cut off his circulation. Finally they were all gagged with strips of cloth from a chair cover, cut with a long folding knife by one of the men and more cord tied around their heads holding them in place.

The sixth man returned with a handful of pillow cases. John almost objected when one went over his head, but the threat of guns pointed at them kept him silent.

It was a white pillowcase, freshly laundered. It let in plenty of light; he could see the bright outline of the front windows and shadows, and the shapes of the men dragging Greta up, the two fake ambulance attendants taking the stretcher, loaded with Frederick and his overnight bag, to the door. But no faces. John had a feeling that it would be healthier for all of them if they didn't see any faces.

"On the floor. Now!"

John turned his head either way, eager to comply with whatever the man with the gun wanted, but not knowing what that was. The man pushed him; he collided with Roy and they were roughly forced down to sit on the floor with the others. John heard the whirr of another length of cord being pulled out. It cut across his body and arms as the man wrapped it around, lashing all four of them together, facing away from each other.

With a few more guttural, foreign words, the men left, the door slamming behind them. After only a few seconds of silence the sirens started up and away. They were taking both the ambulance and the squad. In a minute they were gone.

John tested his bonds. Everyone else did, too. It was pretty uncomfortable, tied together with three shirtless men in their underwear, Roy on his right, Bud on his left, and Izzy behind. Something poked him hard on his right hip.

"Mmmoooyyy!"

He turned his head toward his partner. The fingers of Roy's bound hands poked him again.

"Mmooyy, Uuh-rrr-oooo-ooo-nnnn?"

"Aaaaayyy, uuu-ooo-aaeeezzz-ooonnn?" Bud.

"Aaayy, eee-eee-oooo-eh ooo-ah-aaaeer." Izzy.

Roy not only poked him again, lower this time, he also pushed his whole body on him. John pulled away and into Bud who let out a loud 'Aaaay!'.

"Oooiii! Uhh-ooo-ooo-nnn?"

"Aannn-eee, oorrrr iiisss-rrrr."

Now Roy's fingers were grazing past his butt. What could be be after? John pulled away again, but it was impossible not to drag the others with him; they were all touching, butts and backs. He could feel their hairy bare arms and elbows at his backside. Maybe Izzy had put on too much cologne. And maybe Bud not enough.

Suddenly a huge tug pulled him back toward Roy. Bud fell against him this time. Roy's muffled voice spoke into to his right ear.

"Aah-eee, our iz-erz! Ahm ryin oo geh our iz-erz an geh us ow ov ere!"

Iz-erz? Iz-erz? Izerz . . . . . . . . scissors!

John jolted upright. Scissors! He still had the scissors in his belt pouch!

Pulling his bound hands to his right hip, he could feel the metal handles with the backs of his fingers. Twisting his hands to the right, he tried to get his little finger under one metal loop, but it remained flat against the pouch.

"Aaay, if ee all et uh aaa uns I fink I an et oo thu fone." Izzy tugged on their shared bonds.

"No. Iffy, ah-fo-oh if fyin ooo veh gay-fez fizzers." Bud had apparently understood what Roy was saying.

"Wha?"

"Fizzers, Iffy, FIZZERS!"

"Fizzers . . . . oohhh, fifferz!" Now, Izzy finally got it, too. John felt Izzy pressing backward toward him, the other man's fingers touching his.

"Aay, Issy! Et ooii oo ih!"

Izzy backed off. Roy's fingers poked him again, but this time John used his hands to guide him to the pouch. They both pressed their bodies together so Roy could get the best angle. John felt the scissors brush his side as they came out.

"Aah ih." Roy pulled away and then a sharp metal point poked past John's wrist.

"Ow! Oi-ee, ah-sih."

"Aah-ree."

John's fingers found Roy's hands, holding the scissors and he tried to guide them into position. The sharp metal blades dangerously grazed his skin again, but one of them slid underneath the cord. Then nothing happened. Roy started pulling the scissors back and forth, sawing on the cord. It was tough going through the nylon, and the awkward angle that Roy was forced to hold the scissors at wasn't helping. John concentrated on keeping him wrists from getting cut while Roy braced his shoulder on his while he worked. The air was getting very stuffy under the pillow case.

"Oh, ah fink if cuhmin." John felt a first hopeful give in his bonds as Roy's hands kept moving. "O-ay I fink oov ah-mos aah ih." He could definitely pull his wrists apart, just a little. "Eee oh-in." Roy sawed on the cord a little faster, his shoulder pushing harder on him and moving rhythmically with the scissors. John pulled his wrist apart a little further.

"Ah!" The cord suddenly came loose, though not all the way off. A length of it still bound his hands together, but it was loose enough for him to slip one wrist free. He had to twist his shoulder around to get his arm out of the cord binding them all together, but he could still reach up and pull the pillow case off his head. He could see Greta and Frederick's green couch again. He bumped Roy and the scissors thumped down on the carpet.

Cord still dangling from one wrist, he dug into the knot of the gag at the back of his head.

"Aaah!" He took a deep breath of fresh air. The room around them was unchanged, except that their victim and his wife were gone and the commandos had knocked over a few end tables when they searched the otherwise tidy living room. Looking down, he grabbed a second pair of scissors from the pouch and started to work on the cord around his body.

"Okay, I got my hands free. I'll cut you all loose in just a sec." He attacked the cord around his middle, but it wasn't any easier cutting it even with a good grip on the scissors. He ended up sawing through with the scissor blade like Roy had.

The last cord holding their foursome together fell away and immediately they all pulled away from each other. John twisted around and the others mumbled through their gags toward him, demanding to be untied. He attacked Roy's bonds first. As soon as he got the cords loose he pulled the pillow case off while Roy's hands tugged at the gag.

"Aaaaaayy, et iss ov ov uff."

"Okay, okay." John attacked Bud's bonds next while Roy got up.

"They cut the phone line." Roy held up a useless telephone receiver, the curling cord going down to the rest of the unit, upturned on the carpet. Bud tugged his hands apart as soon as the cords loosened, but he still had to wait for John to finish severing a last stubborn length of nylon. As soon as Bud got his hood and gag off he grabbed the dropped pair of scissors and started cutting Izzy's bonds.

John spotted a familiar orange box. "The biophone . . . " The commandos had kicked it aside under the coffee table, but when he clicked it on, he heard a faint response. It wasn't dead at least.

"Rampart, this is Squad Fifty-One. Rampart, this is Squad Fifty-One. Com in, please."

"Rampart base, Squad Fifty-One, reading you loud and clear." Dixie McCall's voice came back to him from the biophone speaker.

"Uh, Rampart, we need police assistance, here, right away. Our victim's been kidnapped."

There was a pause before Dr. Brackett's voice came back to him. "Say again, Fifty-One?"

"Rampart, our victim and his wife have been kidnapped by six men in black, with guns. They tied us up and left, and took our squad and the ambulance with them. We just got free."

"They got my badge!" Roy stood next to him, his hand on his bare chest.

"All right, Fifty-One, we're sending the police to your location. How was the victim?"

John ran his hand through his hair. "I honestly don't think his back was really hurting him, but one of those men might have broken his nose."

"And his wife, too." Bud still worked on the cords on Izzy's wrists.

"Ten-four, Fifty-One." Brackett signed off to clear the line.

John closed the biophone and stood. "Man, who were those guys? What the hell were they saying?"

"Why are you asking me? I don't know. They got my badge, Johnny!" Roy patted his bare chest.

"Well, you took Gernam in high school, didn't you?"

"I don't remember any of it. And they weren't speaking German anyway."

"Well, if you don't remember any of it, how can you tell they weren't speaking German then?" John was shocked at his partner's lack of interest in what had just happened to them.

"It wasn't German. It was Hebrew." They all turned toward Izzy; Bud had just gotten the pillow case and gag off of him.

"Hebrew?" That made no sense to John. "Well, what did they say?"

"I don't know! I haven't been to Hebrew school since I was a kid. There was just some stuff about the house and them needing to hurry and time . . . . I don't know! They weren't talking loud enough for me to heard everything anyway!" Izzy Finster climbed to his feet and waved his hands in frustration. "Why did you think it was German?"

"The old couple those guys took with them were German."

"They were?" Izzy's dark eyes went wide. "Oh . . . . oh, oh, oh! I know what happened! I know who they were." He turned around in a frantic circle and his tone rose a half-octave. "I know!"

"Well?" John's tone went even higher.

"They were Mossad. And that old couple, they must have been Nazis. I can't believe this happened. I've got to tell my mother. I've got to tell my uncles."

"Who? Who were Nazis?" John looked at his partner, who just shrugged along with Bud, but Izzy was really getting excited now.

"An Isreali hit squad! That old couple must have been escaped Nazis and that hit squad came to grab them, get them out of the county and take them to justice!"

"Hey, somebody's coming!"

Bud was right. They heard a siren. John went to the door and went outside. When he got to the gate, the sheriff's deputy car was just pulling up when he opened the gate. Officer Vince Howard stepped out.

"What's going on Johnny. Got a call from Rampart that there'd been a kidnapping?"

On the way back into the yard and into the house, John explained about the men in black with the big guns who took their victim along with the squad and the ambulance, but they had no idea where they had gone to.

"That's quite a story there, Johnny, what . . . ." Officer Howard stared at the men in the living room.

Roy and Bud were in boxer shorts. Izzy wore briefs.

Howard took only a second to recover from the surprise. "I think I'll have to call this in."

* * *

><p><strong>*o*o*o*o*<strong>

* * *

><p>More than an hour later, Engine Fifty-One rolled up to the house. John Gage was there to meet Captain Stanley when he stepped out.<p>

"Have they found the squad yet?"

John held his hands out as if to show that he didn't have it. "Not yet." He had already talked to the cops who were still in the house searching for clues, but there was nothing to be found. Except for the dead dog in the back room. No one had heard a shot, so the detectives decided that the commandos had used a silencer. John thought that people only used silencers on their guns in the movies.

Chet Kelly got out carrying a dark and light blue bundle of clothes. Mike Stoker and Marco Lopez came around the other side of the engine. Stanley told Mike to stay with the engine while they went inside the gate into the yard. One of the detectives gave Captain Stanley a curt acknowledgment, letting them in the house.

The cops had allowed Roy, Izzy and Bud to cover themselves with blankets from a linen closet in a back hallway, but that was only slightly less embarrassing than sitting in their underwear. Roy gratefully seized the bundle of clothes from Chet and dashed out to a back room to change. John wondered after him along with the Captain, Chet and Marco.

"They got my badge, Cap."

Stanley sighed sympathetically and hoped they would find it. Chet doubled the sentiment; he chronically misplaced his badge, though he always managed to find it pinned to a spare shirt or under his car seat or in the bottom of his locker.

"Thanks. I'm glad somebody here cares." Roy looked a little crossly at his partner.

John knew that the department could come down hard on anyone who lost their badge, but he was sure headquarters would give him a break because of the men with the guns. How could they not?

Roy quickly dressed and then went back into the living room to get his shoes. The commandos had kept their own boots, but Roy had still needed to take them off to get his pants off.

The police seemed to be finishing up in the living room. A man from the ambulance company had already come by with spare clothes and both Izzy and Bud were dressed, but Izzy insisted on staying to repeat his deduction about the Isreali hit squad and Nazis to the stone-faced FBI agents who just wrote down the details in their little notebooks.

Roy finished with his shoes and with a nod from the cops the firemen left. They crossed the sunny yard and left through the gate.

"Hey!"

They turned to Officer Howard.

"Just heard on the radio that they found your squad and the ambulance at Serano Airport."

"Did they find my badge?"

Vince shrugged. "They said there were clothes in them. So, I'd say there's a good chance."

Roy threw his head back and sighed up to the sky. John patted him on the back.

"See, I told you, you didn't have anything to worry about."

Roy nodded. "How soon can we get them back?"

Vince replied thoughtfully in his low baritone. "I doubt you'll get it back today. The lab boys'll be looking over it. And the FBI guys since it was a kidnapping. They'll probably release the squad and your uniform back to the fire department by tomorrow though."

Stanley nodded. "That's about all we can do. Headquarters is sending over a replacement squad. Might already be waiting for us back at the station."

Glumly, Roy agreed. "I guess. I just feel a little naked without my badge and nametage. And pins." He patted the empty space on his blue uniform shirt.

Lopez grinned. "This is coming from a guy who was just standing there in his shorts a minute ago."

Chet joined in. "Yeah, Roy. Maybe that can be your new look around the station."

Stanley frowned. "Not on the department's time."

"Oh, you boys are okay, I see?"

They all turned. There was white-haired Mr. Klopnik from next door, cheerfully making his way toward them. The cops had already taken his statement, though he said he didn't see any of the men in black, or anything unusual when the squad and ambulance left. He had taken off his blue sweater though he still wore the checked pants and short-sleeved striped shirt.

John nodded to him. "We're fine now, Mr. Klopnik. Thank-you for asking."

"From what the police said, it sounded pretty dangerous. Men with guns?" Klopnik shook his head with a little shiver. "Hoodlums like that here? What is the world coming to?"

"Yeah, yeah, it was a little hairy there for awhile." Roy looked down at the elderly man carefully. "I guess it's just as well that you missed all the action."

"I suppose so. Well, I'd better get back home. Glad to see you're all okay." Klopnik shuffled off.

"Hey, lets get back to the station." Stanley gestured for them to get on the engine. Lopez and Kelly had seats behind Stanley and Stoker, but Roy and John had to ride on the running board on back. They walked back, but Roy stopped John before he hopped up.

"Klopnik was lying about seeing anything."

"What?" Surprised, John stared back at his partner. "How do you know that?"

Roy held up his forearm and pointed at it. "He had a number, tattooed on his arm, right here."

Mystified, John looked at Roy's arm as if the explanation might be written there. "Well, why would anyone do that?"

Roy's blue eyes remained locked on his.

"Hey, you two on?" Stanley's voiced called back to them from the front of the engine.

"Yeah, come on, get the lead out guys." Kelly.

Breaking eye contact, Roy shook his head. He glanced back at the house and then then back toward where Klopnik had gone. "I'll tell you back at the station." He stepped up on the running board and grabbed the rail. John joined him and Roy called out to Stanley.

The engine started up and they left.

* * *

><p><strong>*o*o*o*o*<strong>

* * *

><p>The man from headquarters returned the squad to Station Fifty-One just as John and Roy were getting off their shift the next morning. He also handed over a paper bag with Roy's clothes, and badge, in it. Grinning, Roy accepted it and immediately put it into into its case and slipped it into a back pocket of his jeans. But they got no other answers to their questions. Did they catch the men who kidnapped Frederick and Greta? Did they find out who they were? Tthe man just shook his head and grumbled about the FBI and told them not to expect to hear anything about anything. Ever.<p>

"Well, I guess that's it." John put his hand on the hood of the squad. Roy agreed with a sour expression. Johnson and Martinez, the B-shift paramedics, half-heartedly suggested that maybe they would hear something before they went into the day room to start their shift.

"Hey, guys!"

Roy and Johnny turned to see Captain Stanley and the B-shift captain, plus another person in jeans and plaid shirt.

"Hey, Izzy." John greeted the ambulance attendant, who shook hands with him and Roy.

"Glad I caught you. Have you heard anything? They're not telling us anything back at the barn."

The two paramedics shook their heads. John dumped more cold water onto Izzy's hope. "The guy who brought the squad back said that the FBI was in charge of the investigation and they're not saying anything."

That deflated Izzy a bit. Until Roy told him about Klopnik's tattoo. Izzy's eyes lit up. He immediately started making plans to visit Frederick and Gretas' neighbor; Roy's admonishment that Klopnik probably wouldn't admit that he had tipped off the supposed Israeli commandos, especially since he didn't say anything to the cops or the FBI, didn't seem to deter him.

John still felt a bit guilty that he hadn't known that the Nazis tattooed numbers on the arms of the people they sent to concentration camps and that marked Klopnik as a survivor. He doubted that Klopnik would want to talk about it and said so.

Izzy frowned. "Yeah, you gotta point." He lowered his eyes. "I got a grandfather with a number on his arm just like that and he never wants to talk about it."

Roy and Johns' jaws dropped. Izzy looked back up at them with a half smile. "Hey, thanks for telling me. Catch ya later." He left with them staring after him, standing next to the front of the squad in the apparatus bay.

John managed a word first. "Whoa."

"Yeah, you said it." Roy nodded slowly.

"Hey, do you think the cops and the FBI know about Klopnik?"

Roy's brows lowered. "I guess. I mean, they talked to him."

"Yeah, but did they see his arm?"

"Well . . . . ," Roy's blue eyes looked back at him thoughtfully, "if they didn't notice, I don't think we need to tell them."

"Yeah . . . ," John's lip curled up in a crooked smile, "I guess we don't."

* * *

><p><strong>*o*o*o*o* END *o*o*o*o*<strong>

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Mark VII Productions, Inc., Universal Studios and whoever else owns the 1970's TV show Emergency!; I am just playing in their sandbox.


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